Gaudium Vivendi
by LemonMeringueTart
Summary: Set in the 'Primum non nocere' universe. Maura / Jane romance.
1. Chapter 1

Hello again, dear readers...this is the third story in the 'Primum non nocere' universe. If you haven't read that story or it's sequel, 'Inteuri', you will need to do so...NOW...for this to make sense.

I know this first chapter is just Maura prose, but bear with me. I missed her terribly when I took my little vacation to write 'To Protect and Serve' in Jane's POV, so I needed to indulge and get inside of her mind for a bit. I promise that chapter 2 will have PLENTY of Maura/Jane fluff (and smut). :)

As always, I appreciate your time reading and reviewing (hint, hint.) But it's true, reviews make my world go round... Happy reading!

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As I sit on my little chair, bathed in silence, I enjoy the scenery from outside my home office window.

Being stuck in a basement morgue most of the time could result in low levels of Vitamin D from lack of sunlight, so I insist on surrounding myself with as much natural light as possible when I'm not at work.

It is a beautiful autumn day outside and Jane has taken Jo out to the back yard for some playtime. She tried to hide her annoyance when the dog refused to leave my side, finally resorting to picking her up and carrying her out, muttering the entire time about 'misguided canine loyalty.'

Studies of canine and human interaction have shown that a dog will generally prefer one person in the house over another. Generally, a dog will become strongly bonded to the family member they feel provides them with an equal amount of affection and discipline. I have tried to explain to Jane the reason Jo prefers to remain close to me is because I give her a lot of attention while engaging her mind by asking her to do obedience commands as well as tricks. Jane argues it's because I feed her table scraps; only healthy ones, of course. Regardless, Jo and I have a lovely bond that we both enjoy. I am going to sign her up for agility classes this winter. I recently read an article in the Whole Dog Journal that explained the cardiovascular benefits agility provides to both dog and handler and think it would be a fun way for the terrier to burn off some energy once the snow starts to fall. I'm not certain if a study has even been done about if Seasonal Affective Disorder is present in dogs as well as humans. I will have to do more research, as I would hate to have Jo become depressed once winter hits.

The subtle _hmm _of my computer combined with the gentle _tick_ of the clock on the wall are the only sounds present in the silent house. Otherwise, it is so quiet that if I hold still long enough, I can hear the faint _lub dub_ of my own heart, beating rhythmically. The heart that beats for Jane.

I observe the object of my affection, appreciating her slim form as jogs around the yard with Jo. She has exceptional musculature for someone with such a lean body structure. Her deltoids are the most impressive, in my opinion, but today they are unfortunately hidden under her sweatshirt.

However, I've memorized them, so by closing my eyes and concentrating, I can imagine every contour and every freckle. My face flushes as I recall the particular 'Maura mouth' indent I inadvertently left last night. Jane, however, didn't seem to mind and I actually caught her admiring it in the bathroom mirror this morning while wearing nothing else other than a smug smile.

Reaching her left arm down to grasp Jo's saliva-ridden ball, she flexes her brachioradialis muscle. That is another one of my favorites. Her long arm comes up victorious and hurls the ball across the yard. Jo, her hair flying in the breeze, chases it with enthusiasm. I notice as she returns to Jane with the ball tucked firmly between her premolars, that her hair around her face is much too long.

I dart a quick email off to her groomer, confirming our appointment for Jo later this afternoon. I think I finally have Jane convinced to allow them to put bows in her hair this time. Something Thanksgiving themed perhaps, as the holiday is tomorrow and we are taking Jo with us to Jane's parents for dinner.

I keep myself busy with other little tasks, content to watch their fun from my window. After moving in to this home, I wisely invested in soundproof windows. I find it very relaxing to have sunlight streaming in; warming my face and arms, but keeping all noises out. One look outside confirms that our busy neighborhood is taking advantage of the gorgeous day, yet I don't hear a sound.

It is uniquely lonely and comforting to sit here and watch the world pass by. Partially, I feel as if I have the best of both worlds. I have the silence and solitude I cherish so much; while the ability to observe everything going on in my surroundings.

I used to feel like this all the time, even when I was surrounded by people. Once, I was lying in bed with Garrett; obviously before I knew he was a murderer, and he was talking about something. I wasn't paying attention at the time, and even though I should've been active in the conversation, I wasn't. The terrible thing is that I can remember every color woven into his luxurious comforter, and the exact shade of paint on the wall; Sherwin Williams decorator white in an eggshell finish. I can still recall how many ceramic tiles completed the bathroom floor, and what laundry service he used. However, the nature of the conversation is absent from my memory. I laid there and allowed him to take my hand in his, kiss me, make love to me, and still felt nothing. When he finally drifted off to sleep, I stared at the ceiling for hours and counted every texture line in the acoustical ceiling. I made a decision to try and live as normal of a life as I could. Garrett didn't seem to mind that I was distant; he actually didn't even seem to notice. I could easily play the role of a devoted wife and continue to live my life in the dreamy haze of disillusion I had created for myself.

My enchanted world quickly faded away when he started mentioning having children. He needed heirs to the Fairfield throne, and as his future wife, I was responsible for producing them. I couldn't bring myself to be the type of parent I grew up with, that wasn't an option for me. Having the childhood I had, and seeing the person that I had become due to it, terrified me. I knew I could only bring children into this world if I could be a loving and nurturing person.

So, I tried. I forced myself to become more affectionate with Garrett. He seemed to appreciate the extra attention, yet I still found myself disappearing during our sexual relations only to focus on mundane events such as what I'd wear to class tomorrow, and exactly how much spare change was in jar on my desk. Counting the number of pennies and nickels I could see, I would play a game with myself to predict exactly how much was in the jar. Once Garrett was done and asleep, I'd count it and see how close I was. I was able to improve my guess each time and I was able to analytically predict the hidden change with more practice.

One night, I made the perfect guess. I can eerily recall holding the three dollars and thirty-seven cents in my hand, the coins chiming together amidst his heavy snores. I felt obscure jubilation in my correct guess, but once it wore off I realized what I had become. I sat there, in the exact chair that I sit in now, and realized that I would never be the person I was trying to valiantly to be. That my new persona was an exercise in futility, and that it wasn't fair to him to continue to be in this relationship. In the morning, I called it off with him.

I continued to date, but would sever ties with anyone who I felt was trying to get close to me. Assuming I'd be alone for the rest of my life, I began to focus instead on my career and finding my birth parents. Both of those decisions led me to Boston, and to Jane.

After starting a friendship with her, I realized that I was capable of giving and receiving love, even when disguised as friendly affection. Soon, my emotions ran free in regards to all things "Jane." It would have been much easier in some ways to remain alone, but look what I would have been missing out on.

I had to make a decision on what kind of person I was going to be. Everyone has both good things and bad things happen to them, and as we mature we can decide if we are going to let our past influence us. We can deal with the traumas we've endured, or we can push them away. I've found that the more you push, the harder it will push back, usually when you least expect it. I have absorbed all of the negativity I've had in my life, dissected it, studied it, allowed the feelings to be felt, and am now content to allow it to lie peacefully beneath the surface, like a shipwreck.

The wind is strong today, and the trees are waving gently in the breeze. The leftover leaves in the yard swirl around Jane's legs, and every so often Jo will lose focus in the ball and go chasing after them with soundless yip. I see Jane open her mouth to laugh as Jo dives headfirst into the bushes after her ball, and although I can't hear it, I know exactly what it sounds like.

It has to be her extra-exuberant laugh, full and loud. She is in extremely good spirits today, especially since we were able to have today off together, which is a rarity in itself.

Before Jane, I would have sat here all day, completing busy work, and enjoying the lovely day from afar. And while I still crave these moments for myself, the cravings are greatly reduced. I find myself braving the outside world more often, and spending less and less quiet time alone. At first I thought that I was becoming co-dependent for Jane's company but I do not think that is the case. I've concluded from the psychological analysis I've done on myself that my confidence with people and the outside world is growing due to my comfort level with Jane and her family.

This year, I am going to put myself to the test and do something I've always wanted to do. I'm going shopping on Black Friday. This will be the final test to gauge the success of my immersion therapy while experiencing fantastic bargains. I may even invite Angela to go with me.

Jane waves to me through the window, a wide smile on her face. I smile back at her, and laugh when she motions to me to come and join her. Her effervescent personality never fails to amuse me. For someone so serious and tightly-wound, when she is in a good mood she exudes an infections amount of joie-de-vivre that is difficult to resist. My solitude is broken, but I don't mind a bit.

Hopping up from my chair, I go to join her outside, complete with all of its noise.

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_Coming soon, chapter 2…..Maura's first holiday with the Rizzoli family….._


	2. Chapter 2

"Maur…" Jane groans, throwing her head back and gesturing with her arms frantically. When I don't respond she lets out a dramatically long sigh. "Please, c'mon. I'm begging you here."

Walking into the hallway, I give her a wide grin. "Under different circumstances, your tone and body language could be considered highly erotic."

She looks at me, disbelief on her face. "Yeah, well not when we're late for Thanksgiving dinner at my parents' house."

"We're not going to be late." I soothe, touching her arm briefly. "Let's go."

Glancing at my apparel, she nods slowly, as if she's trying to understand something. "You're wearing that?"

I self-consciously smooth down my Prada dress. "Yes, why?"

"Um, well, holidays with my family are a little more laid back, you know?" Jane motions to her outfit, which consists of jeans and a turtleneck sweater.

"You're only wearing the turtleneck to hide the contusions on your neck from last night due to my overeager mouth." I argue.

Jane shrugs. "Right. If you hadn't given me hickeys, I'd be wearing my Pats sweatshirt." She glances at the clock. "Seriously, we have to go. Ma will kiss us if we're late. And you look great, but I thought you might be more comfortable in something, well, comfortable."

"Jane, this is a limited edition Prada tempest boucle tweed mohair dress." I respond.

"And I have no idea what that means." She banters. "Fine, wear it, let's go." She grabs Jo's leash and clips it onto the little dog's collar. Jo resists walking with her until she sees that I am following.

She looks adorable; the groomer really outdid herself this time. Brown and orange bows are placed perfectly atop each furry ear, much to Jane's demise. I caught her trying to take them out last night and had to keep her hands busy in other ways, thus leading to her aforementioned neck contusions.

Once in the car, Jane pulls at the neck of her sweater like a toddler wearing clothes for the first time. "Stop it." I swat at her hand. "You'll stretch the neck out."

"It's annoying. It won't lay right." She argues, sinking down into the passenger seat. I pause to look at her before accelerating onto the street. Something clearly is bothering her.

"What's the matter?"

"I hate holidays." Jane responds, quietly, as if she's never shared this with anyone before.

"Hate is a very strong word." I answer.

She sighs, reaching a long arm over to rest lightly on my thigh. She always tries to initiate physical contact when something is bothering her. I've learned her body language enough to know that if it's a light, fleeting, touch then the issue at hand is something inconsequential; a mere annoyance perhaps. However, if her light contact lingers, almost as if it's hovering over my skin, it's a more serious subject.

"Okay, I really dislike holidays." She retorts, her voice low and soft.

"Why?"

Sighing again, she turns to look out the window, watching the almost-vacant streets pass by us. We are making very good time due to the nonexistent traffic and will arrive at her parents' house shortly.

When Jane doesn't respond right away, I don't question her again and allow her to have her space. I've always enjoyed holidays, surprisingly enough for someone with my upbringing. From afar, I enjoy the tradition they bring, and the sentiments associated with them. I find them fascinating as the origins of each holiday differ so drastically from the events celebrated today. I've actually been enjoying preparing for this holiday season and am excited to spend it with Jane and her family. I feel like I will finally know what it is like to lead a normal life.

"They make me think about dead people." She mutters, so low that it's almost inaudible, even with my exceptional hearing. "You know, like homicide victims. And I feel bad for their families." She pauses. "And we always spent holidays with my grandparents. I miss them, too."

Oh.

I don't know what to say to her.

"It's very common for the grief associated with the loss of a loved one to increase during the holiday season. Seeing holiday decorations or hearing holiday music can cause intense memories of holidays spent with loved ones to resurface. This is all part of the normal grieving process and it's understandable why it would result in one who has lost someone feeling bitter toward the holidays."

The facts pour out of my mouth with no filter. I know that this is the last thing that Jane wants to hear, yet I can't seem to stop myself.

"Many psychologists advise people who have lost a loved one to continue any holiday traditions as if the deceased family member is still present. Perhaps you'd find it helpful to put your grandparent's stocking out or set a place for them at the dinner table."

"Jesus, Maura." She hisses. "I'm not insane." Moving her hand off of my thigh, she starts pulling at the neck of her sweater again.

"I wasn't trying to imply that you were anything less than perfectly sound-minded." I stop talking, and take one hand off of the wheel, reaching for hers. When I find it, I allow my fingers to curl over hers and pull it back onto its former position on my leg.

"I'm sorry." I offer. "I'm useless with anything like this."

"You're not useless." She responds automatically.

"Yes I am." I argue back. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry you miss the ones that you've lost. And I'm sure it's really difficult to do your job and work with families of homicide victims. It's understandable that you'd become attached to them and share in their grief of their lost loved ones. But I'm sure that while they are missing their deceased family members, especially this time of year, they are grateful that you are so dedicated to your job. The fact that you are thinking of them at all shows just how compassionate you are."

We stop at a light and I half-turn in my seat to face her. "That's what I should have told you. I just didn't know how."

"You just did." Jane smiles slightly at me, and despite the somber mood, I am struck by just how beautiful she is. Squeezing my hand gently, she adds, "Thanks."

"Why don't we do something for them?" I ask, suddenly struck with an idea she might find interesting. "We could start a memorial garden outside the station. We have such a nice sunny spot on the corner that looks shabby all the time. The landscapers they currently have are terrible."

Jane laughs, and I know her serious mood is improving. "We'll talk about it later, okay? But thanks, it means a lot." She turns to check on Jo, who is resting comfortably in her crate on my back seat. Jane used to let her ride loose in the car until I insisted on crating her for safety. We've even secured the crate with bungee cords, and while it's unsightly on the seats of my luxury car, I don't mind.

Once we arrive at the Rizzoli's I put the car in park and give Jane a wide smile. "My first Rizzoli holiday dinner!"

She nods at me with a condensing smile on her face. "Exactly like every other Rizzoli dinner, except we're allowed to watch football while we eat."

My face folds into a small frown. "That's it?"

"I told you to dress comfortably!" She retorts. "Okay, there are a few differences. We have turkey instead of pasta, pumpkin pie instead of pastries, and before we eat we have to tell everyone what we're thankful for."

I smile again. "It sounds wonderful."

We make our way inside, Jo following dutifully at my heels, and hear noises from the den. The game has obviously already started and Jane calls out a hello as we head to find everyone.

Several voices call out a greeting in response, and I easily recognize Frank's low voice. However, there are others that are unfamiliar to me. Jane tugs my sleeve, forcing me to stop my advance toward the den and steers me into the kitchen instead.

Angela is trying to lift the turkey out of the oven by herself and Jane rushes to help her.

"Hi ma." She greets her as they struggle with the large roasting pan. "Who's here?" Setting it down on the stovetop, she fixes her mother with a gentle stare.

"Hi honey." Angela slurs, kissing her cheek before turning to face me. "Maura!" She exclaims brightly, embracing me in a tight hug and planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek. Her behavior is explained when I see the long empty bottle of wine on the counter. I don't blame her for consuming the entire bottle. It's an excellent vintage.

"Thank you for inviting me." I tell her politely.

"You are always invited." Her voice is much louder than necessary, and Jane shushes her.

"Tell me the people in there aren't who I think they are." Jane grits, her jaw clenched. Angela ignores her and begins to haphazardly whip the potatoes. Jane watches, bemused, as her inebriated mother makes several attempts to mash them by hand with a wooden meat tenderizing mallet.

"Who's here?" I question, the curiosity finally getting the better of me.

"My Connecticut cousins." Jane responds with an obvious eye roll. "Only the most annoying people on the planet." I nod in understanding. Her cousins probably aren't that annoying, but I'm not surprised Jane would find them to be so. Almost anyone can easily annoy Jane, myself included at times, although she'd never admit it.

Angela finally gives up on the mallet and takes out her hand mixer. Before we can stop her, she turns the mixer on the highest speed and lowers it into the steaming bowl, sending bits of potato everywhere.

I jump back, grateful I was standing far enough away to avoid being covered in white potato. Jane, unfortunately, didn't escape unscathed.

"Ma!" Jane scolds her, reaching to turn the mixer off before giving me a disparaging look. I take it from Angela's hands and proceed to properly whip the potatoes while Jane reprimands her mother.

"Why didn't you tell me they were coming?" She asks, clearly annoyed. She makes no attempt to clean herself off, which I find strange. Although not as fastidious as I am, she certainly takes pride in her hygiene. I glance at her as I continue my mixing, motioning for her to brush the potato spatter off of her face. She ignores me.

"They're family. I didn't think I had to run it by you!" Angela shrills back.

"Shh!" We shush her in unison.

"Janie!" A loud booming voice announces itself, and I look up from my mixing to see a middle-aged man in his fifties standing in the doorway. He's completely normal looking, wearing casual dress clothes and sporting a well-groomed moustache.

"Hi, John." Jane greets politely. He crosses the room to hug her and she jumps back like she's been stung. "Sorry, I'm covered in potato. Don't want to ruin your nice shirt!"

"I'll get you later!" He promises, and I see Jane shudder slightly. Advancing on me, he exclaims loudly, "And you must be the beautiful Maura!"

Over his shoulder, Jane is giving me an apologetic look, her face twisted in a sort of contorted grimace. Confused, I turn my attention back to her cousin, turning off the mixer in order to shake his hand. Instead, he wraps me into the most unwelcome and awkward hug I've ever received.

I stand with one hand still on the mixer and wait for the hug to end; but it lingers for what seems like several minutes. Realistically, it was only eight seconds, well over the accepted time for a friendly hug which should last no more than two seconds. Jane finally taps him on the shoulder and he releases me, telling me how nice it is to finally meet me. Turning his attention back to Jane, I am frozen with disbelief, looking back and forth between Jane and Angela.

In her intoxicated state, Angela's inhibitions are lowered. "No men in the kitchen!" She says loudly, pushing John back to the den. He grumbles good-naturedly and soon rejoins the others gathered in the den watching the game.

Jane has the most peculiar look on her face, one that I cannot even place despite my years of research.

Finally, she and Angela let loose with laughter than echoes off the kitchen walls. Although I am extremely uncomfortable, I am relieved to see the two of them getting along. Angela hangs onto Jane for support as she guffaws, tears streaming down her face. Jane is able to regain control first and shakes her head sadly at me.

"I am so sorry, sweetheart." She offers, but her apology is tainted by the mirth clearly evident on her cheeks.

I am at a loss of words, so I remain silent and let her explain.

"Johnny the groper!" Angela sputters before dissolving into uncontrollable laughter.

"Excuse me?" I question, uncertain as to what is going on. I feel very uneasy, as if I'm the target of some practical joke. I look at Jane helplessly, as Jo dances anxiously around my feet. Obviously my nervousness has been transmitted to the dog and I smile at her reassuringly, sharing in her discomfort.

Jane steadies her still-giggling mother against the counter and crosses over to me. Putting her hands on my forearms, she meets my eyes with hers.

Her gaze is reassuring and steady, and I feel instantly calmed.

"John is an asshole. We call him Johnny the groper because enjoys hugging women a little too much, if you know what I mean. He's harmless, but a creep."

"Doesn't his wife mind?" I ask, still confused by his behavior.

"His wife is a whole other story. The entire family is fucked up." She responds, a small smile on the corner of her mouth. "You okay?"

I nod, too shocked at the events that have just occurred to scold her for her language. "Yes, thank you for explaining."

"You're part of the family now." Angela says soberly from across the room. "You've been inducted." She can't control her giggles and Jane breaks into laughter once again.

My first Rizzoli holiday dinner will certainly be interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

_So, a lot of you have asked. Yes, the groper is a real live human being (named changed to prevent the not-so-innocent.) He is my wife's cousin and I have the distinct displeasure of his being in his company a few times a year at certain holidays. Hooray._

_Additionally, a lot of you have asked about my story titles….I'm sure you're eager to read the update, so I'll make some notes at the end. _

_Happy reading! Thanks for all the reviews – keep em' coming!_

"Maur." Jane says low, her teeth clenched. It is so sexy when she does that, and since I told her the reaction I have when she talks like that; I find her doing it much more often. Like this morning, for example, when she opened the refrigerator and gritted out that we needed butter. I quirk my eyebrow at her in response. "Is it possible to kill myself with a fork?"

"Of course." I whisper, picking up the mentioned utensil and making a stabbing motion toward my eye with it. "Quite easily, actually." She grins at me, her love for me apparent and I can't help but smile back at her. "You can kill yourself with almost anything, really."

"Good. I'll keep that in mind." She glances around the table. "At least ma let us sit next to each other."

"I'd rather sit across from you." I argue, careful to keep my tone down as to not be overheard. John's son, who Jane has dubbed 'Derek the future groper' is sitting across from me and hasn't moved his eyes above my bust line yet. He's eleven. Jane has tried numerous times to glare at him to scare him off, but because his eyes are fixated on my breasts, he doesn't notice her evil stare.

Once everyone else is seated, Angela clears her throat. We turn our attention to her, and she gives us all a beaming smile. While I finished preparing dinner, Jane took her mother for a quick walk outside. As I hoped, the fresh air, burst of exercise, and cup of coffee we forced to her drink has helped her become less effected by the bottle of wine she consumed.

"Thanksgiving is a time to cherish each other and become thankful for what we have. I'm thankful for my husband and my children." Angela states, and frowns before continuing. "But I'd be more thankful if my sons could be here today."

Jane sighs next to me and rubs the bridge of her nose. I am uncertain why being around Angela always gives Jane an instant sinus headache. I've heard it is possible to actually become allergic to a person, but it is usually seen as a psychosomatic condition. In any case, Jane clearly exhibits symptoms of allergies when she is around her mother for a certain amount of time. I wonder if Angela would allow me to draw some blood in order to run a few tests.

"I'm sure Frankie will be on his way after work." Jane replies, glancing at his empty place at the table. "You know, after he's done keeping Boston's city streets safe." She adds quickly before looking at me and waggling her eyebrows.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll be in after he's finished his doughnuts!" John exclaims, elbowing his wife harshly. She laughs at his terrible attempt at a joke, and when no one else laughs, she gives him a filthy look.

John's wife is very unusual, even by my standards. At least twenty years his junior, she doesn't look quite old enough to be Derek's mother, unless she had an underage tryst with John. She also doesn't speak; she obviously is capable of speech as I've heard her make a variety of sounds, but she hasn't actually said an actual word yet. Bizarre. She also is staring at me like she is very displeased with me, but I am not sure why. I certainly haven't said anything unkind to her, and because she refuses to talk, I haven't tried to make conversation with her.

"Aw, John." Jane's voice is laced with sugar, but I know her well enough to hear the tense undercurrent. "Don't be bitter, I'm sure the department would have loved to have you." She gives me a wry look. "He flunked out of the academy." Jane adds, her tone low.

"They would have been lucky to have me!" He says proudly, glaring at Jane.

"I'm thankful for my family. Two sons and two beautiful daughters, what more could a man ask for?" Frank says suddenly, his loud voice silencing the rest of the table. My face flushes when I realize he's included me as a daughter. I look at Jane, who gives me a radiant smile and squeezes my hand under the table. "I'm thankful for this food, too. Let's eat."

"Not everyone has gone yet!" Angela responds, her shrill voice obviously getting to Jane, who rubs the bridge of her nose again. "It's Wendy's turn."

"God." Wendy answers quietly. She looks to her husband, who goes next.

"I'm thankful that the Jets are looking good this year." He looks at his son, who is still engrossed with my body. I would shudder with disgust, but he'd probably enjoy how the reaction would make my breasts quiver.

"Derek, your turn." John puts his arm around his son's shoulders and allows his own eyes to linger on my body. "What are you thankful for, son?"

"I'm thankful for….." Derek mumbles, his eyes roving over my exposed cleavage. It is exceptional in this dress, if I do say so myself, but his reaction to my breasts is growing concerning. His behavior is highly inappropriate and it is making me quite uncomfortable. There is nothing wrong with this garment, and while it does show off my assets, it's professional enough that I could easily wear it to work. It's not as if I am dressed inappropriately.

"Ouch!" Derek cries suddenly, pulling his leg out from under the table to rub it.

"I think we know what you're thankful for, Derek." Jane quips slyly. "Is your leg okay?" She asks innocently, her wide smile well-hidden. He gives her a worried look out of the side of his eyes before turning his attention, once again, to my chest.

"Ow!" He practically screams this time and jumps out of his chair. "Dad, she kicked me!"

"Maura?" Jane asks, ignoring the boy. "What are you thankful for?"

I pause, looking around the table and observing everyone's facial expressions. If it were just Jane and her parents, I would be tempted to give a short speech listing everything that I am truly grateful for, but I don't want any more attention on me from the Connecticut cousins. They really are terrible; Jane wasn't being overdramatic or exaggerating this time.

"You." I respond truthfully.

"And I am thankful for you." Jane states. "Great, let's eat!"

Everyone begins passing around various bowls of steaming food and bits of conversation begin. Angela talks excitedly to Wendy, who doesn't respond back. I overhear part of the conversation, if you could call it that, and it seems to be about the new recipe for beet salad she tried this year.

John is explaining to Frank why the Jets are a far better football team that the Patriots, and Derek is steadily eating whatever is in front of him on his plate without taking his eyes off of his plate. He looks up at my chest once, quickly, before glancing to Jane. When he sees that she is watching him, he instantly flicks his eyes back down to his plate. At least he is capable of learning, and while Jane's "I'll kick you until you comply with my wishes" method certainly isn't acceptable, I am not complaining.

As our meal progresses, I realize that while this dinner could be considered a disaster by many accounts, Jane has made sure to check in with me with quick glances and an occasional fleeting touch. It's actually kind of fun to see Jane in such a playful mood, since Angela is so focused on getting Wendy to talk, she has left Jane alone. Jane has made several teasing comments to John about the police, clearly with the intent to aggravate him, and she seems to be enjoying herself.

I am filled with pride, however. For the first time while in the company of strangers, I haven't spouted off a logic train of 'Maurlogic, as Jane likes to call it. I have answered questions about myself concisely and politely without resorting to my old habits.

"Dad, how did Thanksgiving start?" Derek asks suddenly, removing his eyes from his plate only to glace at his father's quickly.

John looks around the table proudly, as if his son is a genius for asking such a simple question. I'd like to tell them all that by age 11, I was already developing a thesis to argue the merits of the construction of an international space station.

"I don't know, Derek." John remarks.

"Oh, Maura will know!" Angela says proudly, her eyes still glassy from the wine. "Maura knows everything!" She turns her attention to me, smiling widely. "Tell them, honey!"

I close my eyes and see everything of what I know about the history of Thanksgiving running through my mind clearly, line by line, as if I had the printed pages of every history book in front of me.

"What's wrong with her?" Derek asks his father.

"Nothing." Jane snaps. "What's wrong with you, you little perv?"

My eyes fly open and I elbow her in the side. "Jane!"

"Don't talk about my son like that!" John yells as his face flushes, making his greyed mustache stand out even more. He stands up from the table, throwing his napkin down on the floor.

"Like father, like son." Jane retorts as she also stands up. Her height dwarfs his and he glances nervously away to avert her intense gaze.

"Sit down, Johnny." Frank remarks, calmly buttering his second piece of bread. Angela's mouth is open in surprise, no sounds coming out.

"This turkey is delicious." Wendy states as she helps herself to a second serving. It is the first sentence I have heard her utter. She looks up at me, smiling, and I return her smile, my eyes wide with surprise.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Frankie's booming voice calls from the doorway as he lets himself in. "I hope I didn't miss dinner…" his voice trails off as he enters the dining room and witnesses Jane staring John down.

The room is frozen for a split second, and I use that opportunity to tug Jane back down to my side. Feeling the anger emanating from her entire body, I lean over and whisper in her ear my little secret phrase that I have learned always turns my tigress into a purring kitten. She relaxes slightly and gives Frankie her sly smile.

"Just in time, baby bro. Lookie who came up for dinner! The Connecticut cousins!"

"Hi Junior." John greets him, pulling him into a hug. The look on Frankie's face is priceless, and I realize, that Johnny the groper has struck again. Happy Thanksgiving, indeed.

_As promised…._

_Primum non nocere__ - A Latin phrase that translates as: "First, do no harm."_ _It is a common misconception that this phrase is found in __The Hippocratic Oath, which is an ancient Greek text. However, while this is not the exact phrase in the text, it is similar. It is considered a rite of passage for medical doctors to swear by this oath, and I felt that it was a perfect title for the first story in my series as Maura struggled with her feelings for Jane, and the decision of how to react to them. Her ultimate goal was to keep their friendship strong, and not do any harm to their relationship._

_Intueri –__ This is the Latin term for intuition. Because Maura was struggling with developing her own inner "guide" and the feelings that they were forcing her to deal with, I felt this was a good choice for the title. _

_Guardium Vivendi – __This is a rough translation of the French term "Joie de vivre", or the joy of living. I thought Jane & Maura needed a break and the opportunity to have some fun, hence the more lighthearted tone of this story. _


	4. Chapter 4

Hello dear readers...I was feeling frisky today, so here's a special treat for you. Warning, this chapter contains girl on girl nookie...with...ahem...an accessory. If it's not your cup of tea, skip this chapter.

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"Jane, get inside." I pant. "Now."

"That's what she said." She mutters, calmly trying to turn the key in the knob.

"No more reruns of The Office for you." I respond, clenching my legs together.

"Ha!" Jane exclaims as the door pops open. I make a run for it, somehow managing to kick my heels off mid-stride and toss them aside as I dash for the restroom. Jane disables the house alarm and closes the door with a victorious slam, and I know she is as happy to be home as I am. I hear Jo's toenails click on the tile as she trots over to the bathroom door and scratches at it. When I don't open the door for her, she lets out a pathetic whimper.

I should have used the restroom at her parent's house. It's perfectly clean; however, once I saw John disappear into it and not resurface for a good ten minutes, I decided to take my chances on waiting until I arrived home. It was not the wisest decision to have three glasses of wine, either, but we all did what we had to do in order to endure that dinner. My bladder finally empty and aching with relief, I wash my hands for the recommended 15 seconds, flush the toilet, and leave the restroom to see Jane leaning up against the hallway wall waiting for me.

"You okay?" Jane asks, her face full of thinly-veiled humor. "Didja make it?"

"Yes." I respond primly, tucking my hair behind my ears.

"You could've used my parent's bathroom upstairs, you know." She prods gently, her dark eyes twinkling. "Ma's a neat freak; you could practically eat off the floor if you wanted too."

"I'm sure it meets all classic housekeeping standards." I answer. "However, I had the distinct notion that if I left your side for even a minute, Derek would have followed me."

"Probably." Jane agrees. "That kid is such a creep! Still, he's not worth peeing your pants over."

"I wasn't wearing pants." I argue, motioning to my dress. "Besides, I've done various bladder control exercises over the years and knew I could wait until we arrived home." Tilting my head, I decide to have a little fun with her. "I could teach you the mechanics of bladder and bowel control, complete with timed voiding practice. It would be very useful to you when you are out in the field on a case."

Jane opens her mouth and closes it several times, looking very much like a confused guppy. It's quite humorous, and utterly endearing. "Um, I don't think I'm supposed to talk about things like this with you." She mutters weakly. "You know, isn't there some study that says couples aren't supposed to talk about bathroom stuff?"

"Actually, it's a sign of a secure relationship." I grin before moving in to give her a long and thorough kiss. "It means we are comfortable with each other." I whisper against her lips before kissing her again. I allow my hands to roam to her shoulders and gently trace the outline of her breasts. She pushes her mouth harder against mine, and I back her up into the wall and press myself against her.

"Oh, I'm comfortable." She purrs against my mouth, starting a fire throughout my body that leaves me lightheaded. I set my hands free and leave them to their own devices while I stand on my toes in order to continue kissing her. Without my heels on, she's a good five inches taller than me. Taking that into consideration, I've spent more time working on leg stretches in Yoga.

Deftly undoing her button fly jeans with one hand, I wrap the other around her waist and place a kiss on the incredibly sexy cleft in her chin before moving back to her mouth. Jane smiles against my lips before overpowering me and forcing my hands behind my back.

Sliding her hands down my torso leisurely, they finally come to rest just where I wanted her the most and I am held securely from the front and back. Once she starts moving her hands slowly, oh so slowly, I am powerless. And she knows it.

Her hands stop moving, and she gently releases me. "I gotta pee like a racehorse." Entering the bathroom, she turns to smirk at me. Her chocolate locks fall gently over her shoulders, and her dark eyes glitter in the low light of the hall. She is wearing a luxuriously soft black cashmere turtleneck that I bought for her, and my hands almost burn to inch underneath and feel her supple skin on my fingertips and the fabric on the back of my hands.

"Jane." I whine, standing in the hallway, my chest heaving. "You are unbelievable."

"What?" She responds, slowly closing the door. "You said we could talk about bathroom stuff now."

I resist the urge to bang my head against the wall. One thing I have learned about my detective recently is that she's a terrible tease. Let me rephrase, she is an excellent tease, much to my dismay. She enjoys trying to initiate a sexual response from me that leaves me waiting and agonizing for her touch.

Last week; she sent me a very erotic text message in which I was not able to immediately respond as I was literally up to my elbows in work. I heard my phone chiming several times throughout the autopsy, and once I was finished and cleaned up, I saw I had ten new texts from Jane. Reading them in order, I realized that because I did not respond, Jane became more and more descriptive in her texts about what she wanted to do with me, and was obviously trying to illicit a reaction from me.

It certainly worked, and when I begged her to take a long lunch with me, she declined politely, insisting we share tuna on crackers while sitting at her desk. She practically made love to me with her eyes all throughout lunch, much to Korsak's oblivion and Frost's delight. My attempts to get her to leave early fell on deaf ears, and not until we were in the car on the way home was I able to get her to pull over in a vacant lot and finally make good on her promises from earlier in the day.

Once she realized what her antics did to me, she has taken it upon herself to see just how far she can push me. I can certainly fight fire with fire, and have tried my best to do the same to her. However, her poker face is unbelievable, and she has the uncanny ability to remain unfazed by my attempts to tease her. It is so frustrating, on so many levels.

If I ignore her capers, she will up the ante and increase her messages. If I message her back something just as illicit, she will respond that I am not maintaining a professional work atmosphere. Her smart-alecky response will titillate me more until I break down, texting her to meet me in the elevator in five minutes. Naked.

I have realized that patience, a personality trait that I have always prided myself on, is not something I am able to maintain when it comes to Jane.

Hearing the water running, I unzip the back of my dress and shimmy out of it, quickly shedding the rest of my clothes. Let's see if she can deny this. Hearing the door start to open, I don't even bother picking them up and the pile of discarded garments lie puddled in the hallway.

Poking her head out of the bathroom, she takes one look at me and her eyes go wide with surprise. Knowing she'll follow me, I saunter down the hall toward the bedroom as she eagerly trots behind me. I will have to enjoy this small victory now, knowing full well once Monday comes we will be back at work, fully clothed, and she will have the upper hand again.

The bedroom is dark and quiet, and I feel my muscles clench with anticipation as I stand at the foot of the bed. Jane approaches me from behind and I tilt my neck to the side to allow her full access. She gratefully covers my entire neck with peppered kisses, at first fleeting, and then her mouth lingers on my pulse point. I roll my neck languorously, enjoying every second of her attention.

Her hands meander over every inch of my body, pinching and squeezing, caressing and stroking. Surely, this is heaven. She turns me gracefully in her arms, and I can't help the low moan that escapes my mouth when my hardened nipples brush against her sweater.

Jane's ghost-like touches are fleeting, never staying in one place long enough to do more than tease me, and I let out a whimper of frustration. Closing my eyes, I let my head roll back against my shoulders, knowing it will make my breasts jut out toward her. My body is practically begging for her touch, and I am finally rewarded when I feel Jane's succulent mouth close around my nipple. My eyes open and meet hers, and I am astonished at the love I see swimming in the dark depths. She moves to my other nipple, and I wrap my hands in her hair, pulling her even closer to me.

When I feel her hand boldly coat itself with my wetness, my knees buckle despite my good intentions of standing here and enjoying this for as long as I can. Jane chuckles against my nipple before releasing it and standing upright once again.

Despite my nakedness, I feel no vulnerability when she gazes down at me. Although I still am uncertain why she would choose me, of all people, to be with when she could have anyone that she wanted. Her normally olive-tinged skin is dusky in the low light and I have the desire to see more of it, now.

"Too many clothes." My voice is low to my ears, and when I give her jeans a firm tug, her eyes flash with approval. Seeing the waistband of her Polo women's boy briefs gives me a sudden inspiration for an idea.

"What?" She questions immediately, and the look on my face must have given it away. I widen my eyes and give her a wide smile, hoping to convey innocence. She obviously is not buying it, however. "Maur, what are you concocting with that big brain of yours?"

Hmm. This is a subject that needs to be handled delicately. When I surprised her with an item I'd purchased from a very reputable online company that sells products to enhance lovemaking between lesbian couples, she was quite standoffish about using the item. Once I explained to her, in explicit detail, why I was interested in using it I did get a favorable sexual reaction out of her, but still resistance to use the actual item. It's been sitting in my drawer for weeks now, and the curiosity of the experience is really getting the better of me.

I could give her specifics of why women in lesbian relationships are interested in using such an accessory, and could also explain to her the importance of embracing both gender roles and accepting unconventional feelings. I could also cite several studies that have shown that occasionally donning a masculine accessory doesn't inhibit female sexuality or displace feminine identity.

_Or, you could just tell her how hot it makes you when you imagine her bending you over and thoroughly fucking you. _

I feel my face flush with my internal admission and nervously bite my lip.

Jane arches a delicate eyebrow and looks at me suspiciously. When she realizes that I'm unable to answer her, she places her hands comfortingly around my arms. The strength of her touch boosts my courage, and I hurry with my response.

"I would like you to put on the strap-on dildo and harness I purchased and have intercourse with me." Before the phrase even leaves my mouth, I realize just how wrong it sounds. I squeeze my toes against the hardwood floor, hopeful that it will suddenly turn to quicksand so I can gracefully sink into a deep crevice of my own embarrassment.

I close my eyes and lick my lips, my face tense as I await Jane's laughter. It doesn't come, so I open one eye cautiously and when I realize that she's not making fun of me or laughing, my other eye follows suit.

Jane shrugs, and does her adorable mouth scrunch while nodding. "Sure."

"Really?" I eagerly clap my hands as my former embarrassment disappears into thin air. Before she can change her mind, I open my dresser drawer and fetch the package of, well, the package. "I'm not exactly sure how it will be assembled." I explain, opening the plastic and removing the directions. Jane snatches both from my hands.

"Lemee figure it out, okay?" She turns quickly and heads toward the master bathroom.

"Do you want help?" I ask, almost giddy with excitement.

"No." She snaps as she closes the door. I know her well enough to realize that she is not upset with me at all. When faced with something new, Jane will react in one of two ways. If she's fairly confident of her expertise in the new subject matter, she will assume a boastful nature and assume that she will easily be able to conquer the experience and claim it as her own. If she is uncertain of her expertise in the new subject matter, she will react with hostility and often become irate for no apparent reason. This clearly is out of her comfort level, which upsets me.

I cross over to the bathroom door and give it a gentle knock. "Jane, we don't have to do this. You are obviously uncomfortable with my request and that was not my intention."

"I'm fine." Her voice is muffled. "I'm just trying to figure it out. Why do they make these so confusing?"

I can't help but smile at her response. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask again.

"Yes." She lets out a heavy sigh. "Okay, I got it. Wow. Hey Maur, I could have done without the full-length mirror in here. I look freaky."

"Put your jeans back on." I tell her. "It will help you re-establish your regular appearance."

Through the door, I hear her clearly pick up her jeans from the floor and begin to put them back on. From the sound of it, they slide easily back up her hips, but once she tries to button them she runs into trouble due to the new attachment. I hear her feet slide from side to side as she makes her attempts to fit everything in.

"How in the world do guys walk around with these things?" She mutters under her breath. I can't control the little laugh that escapes from my mouth. "I swear to God Maura, if you laugh at me I'm taking this thing off and throwing it out the window."

"I'm sure the neighbors would appreciate that." I respond sweetly. "Besides, I wasn't laughing at your predicament, I was laughing at your statement. "

"Same thing." She responds. "Okay, I'm ready."

Jane swings the door open and tries to walk confidently out of the bathroom, but her swagger is severely limited by her stilted gate and blushing face. She makes a beeline for the bed, tossing the pillows onto the floor and sliding in-between the covers self-consciously.

"Come here." She orders, and I slip in next to her. "I want to do this, okay? I'm just not sure how, exactly."

I nod, understanding how it must be confusing for her. "What can I do to help you be more comfortable?" I ask, uncertain of what she needs.

Smiling shyly, she lowers her lush lashes and bats them charmingly. "You could kiss me."

I respond to her request eagerly. As soon as I feel her become more relaxed, I slide on top of her and allow my weight to settle on hers. Wearing just a simple cotton bra and jeans, she looks incredibly sexy and I capture the image of her perfectly in my mind, willing the memory of now to always stay this vibrant.

"That's nice." Jane whispers, resting her arms around my back and holding me close to her. We begin to move together in a lazy rhythm and I can tell by the glint in her eyes that her confidence is growing. "So it's just like this, huh?" She pants as she rolls her hips into mine.

"Almost." I respond, sliding my hand in between our bodies and fiddling with the buttons on her jeans. It seemed so easy to unfasten them earlier. After a brief struggle, I am finally able to unbutton the top and with one swoop unhook all the rest.

My eyes meet hers as I lower myself onto the toy and once I settle into place I vocalize my approval.

"Oh." Jane sighs, biting down on her lip as she thrusts her hips up into mine. "Nice." She drawls.

"Very." I concur as I ride the gentle motion she creates. Her eyes grow bolder with each thrust and I allow myself to crash downward, rolling my hips to push the base of the toy into her. I can tell by her soft grunt that she approves.

We continue our languid motion for several minutes until the fire in Jane's eyes grows so bright that I know she can't resist herself any longer. She is waiting for one word from me, and I give it to her freely.

"Yes."

With my whispered utterance, she rolls us both over, thrusting into me deeply. "Is this okay?" She grits out, her hair falling onto my neck and shoulders.

"Don't you dare stop." I am able to respond between pants. This experience is far surpassing my expectations.

Jane pauses for a second when she hears her phone ring. It's in the back pocket of her jeans and I encourage her to continue while I fish it out of her pocket.

"Ignore it." She demands, doubling up on her efforts. My arm, still holding the offending phone, flops down onto the bed while I silence the ringer. My hands clench against the bedcovers when she angles her hips while driving into me and I feel my orgasm begin, stronger than any I've ever encountered.

"Jane." I pant in her ear, grabbing at her exposed back with my hands. "Right there."

"Here?" She drawls, drawing out her thrust while rocking her hips upward.

"Smartass." I squeak out while she continues her motion. I am so far over the edge I don't even notice our home phone start to ring as it blends perfectly with the ringing sound in my ears due to the increase in blood flow. I can't help but cry out when the overwhelming rush of my climax overtakes me and I frantically maneuver my hand down to find Jane underneath the toy, so wet and ready, arching into my trembling fingers as I make contact with her clit.

"Fuck." She exclaims, collapsing on top of me with a mixture of pleasure and exhaustion.

We lie intertwined for several seconds, our hearts beating in unison. Sharing each other's breath and our hair tangled together, we easily could be one creature with two heads, four arms, and four legs.

I finally realize that the phone has stopped ringing and the machine has picked up. Simultaneously, I hear Jo begin to bark as a knock sounds on the door while the message of the machine plays.

"Hi girls! Surprise! I'm at your door, let me in. It's freezing out here!" Angela's chipper voice echoes through the house, backed by Jo's frantic barks.

"You've got to be kidding me." Jane drawls, her head still buried in my shoulder. "Please tell me this is a joke."

Oh, do I wish it was.


	5. Chapter 5

_I had to work night and day on this update to avoid receiving any more threatening messages to "continue, or else." You guys can be pretty scary. _

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_

"Shit." Jane exclaims, her arms unsteady as she pushes herself off of me and rolls onto her back. "This can't be happening."

I remain silent, still dazed by the experience. I have found that making love to Jane results in the complete and total numbing of my brain. She leaves me with the mental capacity of a caveman; as in, sex good, Angela bad. Further proof of my brain shut-down is my inability to recount the scientific name of a caveman. Rarely do I resort to referring to something by only its common name. It's just not proper.

"Maur, how do I get this thing off?" She sighs as the home phone starts to ring again. I can't help but giggle as I look to her waist to see the glittery turquoise phallus standing erect. When she reaches down to try and remove it, and it starts bobbing all around, I erupt into full-blown guffaws.

Jane glares at me. "That's it. No more blue boners for you." I can barely control my laughter as she stands up and her pants fall around her ankles, still trying to unsuccessfully unbuckle the harness. "And did you really have to get one with sparkles? What's the point of that?"

I shrug, finally able to reign in my mirth. "I thought it was pretty."

"Hello? Girls? I know you're home. Can you let me in please?" Angela's voice on the machine, now much more irate with her second message, booms through the house.

"Do you think if we ignore her, that she'll go away?" Jane asks, quirking her brow at me. "Maybe if I answer the door wearing my sparkly blue dick it will scare her off."

"Jane!" I chastise her and she looks at me helplessly. While it would be amusing to tell her to just put her pants back on, leaving the toy in place, I know that she would find some sort of revenge for me later. Once her eyes meet mine and I recognize her patented dark-eyed pout, I give in. Taking pity on her, I help her unfasten the harness. She pulls up her jeans and I toss her a shirt. "Go let your mother in. I'll be right out."

As she obediently heads toward the front door, the last of my orgasm-induced haze clears. "Homo neanderthalensis!" I exclaim happily out loud, grateful that the forgetfulness is only temporary.

Sliding on my robe, I quickly tidy up the bedroom and remove all incriminating evidence. Angela loves to poke her head in each room while she's here to see "what we've done with the place." The last thing she needs to see is the evidence of our latest sexual endeavor.

I light a Spiced Pumpkin Yankee Candle to freshen the room and head into the master bathroom to take a quick shower. I sigh in complete serenity when the warm water caresses my body. Although Angela ruined a perfectly wonderful afterglow; where we would've laid entangled until our energy returned, exchanged declarations of love, and promises of forever, I still feel extremely content.

A blast of cooler air enters the bathroom when the door opens. Jane closes the lid of the toilet seat and sits down with a quiet thump. I move the curtain and poke my head out, and her eyes meet mine.

"Well, she knows." She says glumly.

"What?" I question. Much like my beloved tortoise fleeing into his shell at any sign of danger, I instinctually pull my head back into the safety of the shower. It's impossible that she would know what we were doing. Our bedroom windows are extremely well-protected by thick vegetation and shrubs, not to mention my double-lined curtains that were closed the entire time. There isn't any practical possibility that she would have any inkling that we were just experimenting with a strap-on dildo. Content that our secret is safe, I allow myself to relax and begin to wash my hair.

"She saw your pile of clothes in the hall across from the guest bath and asked why your nice dress was on the floor." Jane responds. "Along with your panties."

"She said panties?" I ask, doubtful. "That's a terrible word that I can't picture your mother saying."

"What's wrong with panties? That's what they are, right?" She argues back. "Anyway, my face gave it away. She knows what we were doing." I poke my head out and see her sitting with her head in her hands, her chocolate locks falling haphazardly over her shoulders. "I wish I was dead." She mumbles pathetically.

"Don't say such a thing." I scold her before rinsing the conditioner from my hair. "Your mother is a grown woman. You are in a loving and healthy relationship, and she must realize that we have sex. It's not that big of a deal what we do in our home on our own time. It's not as if we knew she was coming over and blatantly began to have intercourse in front of her."

"Hey Maur?" Jane asks, continuing before I can respond. "Can you not say intercourse anymore?"

"Agreed." I defer. "If you no longer use the word panties."

"Deal." I know she must still have her head down, because her last sentence is muffled to my ears. "Still don't know what's wrong with saying panties."

I laugh, turning the water off. My towel is thrust into my hand from behind the curtain and I smile with affection. Jane likes to visit me while I'm showering, preferring to sit on the closed toilet seat and chat with me. At first I found it uncomfortable, my showers being a sanctum that I preferred to enjoy alone, in solitude. But her presence grew on me, and she keeps her visits infrequent enough that it's always a pleasant surprise.

I dry myself off and wrap the towel around my hair. Sticking my hand out, I feel my soft robe pressing against my fingertips. Besides, her valet service is impeccable.

Stepping out, I place a gentle kiss to her cheek. "I'll tip you later."

"Promises, promises." She mutters with a faint grin on her face.

"It's fine." I soothe, my fingers tangling themselves in the wildness of her hair. "I know it's embarrassing, but I promise that it's fine." Jane tilts her head up, meeting me with a face filled with innocence.

"Keep her company while I shower?" She pleads and I nod in agreement. I would do anything she asks, well, within reason.

Finding a pair of leggings and an oversized top, I run a comb through my wet hair. Hearing Jane begin her shower, I rummage through her messy drawers to find her favorite sweatpants and a clean long-sleeved t-shirt. Folding them neatly while I enter the bathroom, I place them on the closed toilet seat lid and retrieve her dirty clothes from the bathroom floor. Gathering the laundry basket, I open the bedroom door and walk down the hallway, picking up my discarded clothes on the floor, and make my way to the kitchen. I find Angela sitting awkwardly on one of the kitchen stools. She is holding Jo in her lap, and the little dog looks as if she'd being held against her will.

A vivid flashback of Jane's pleading dark eyes boring into mine as she was held from behind by Bobby filters through my mind and I shake my head to dissolve it. Gratefully it does, the particles of the image fading like a masterpiece on a shaken etch-a-sketch. That hasn't happened in a long time, thankfully.

"Hi, honey." Angela says softly, her voice slightly slurred. "I'm sorry to bother you girls."

"No bother at all." I smile at her. "Is everything okay?"

She shrugs, looking eerily similar to her daughter. "Frank and I had a fight." Angela blurts out suddenly.

"I'm sorry."

"As soon as everyone left he started in on me about inviting the Connecticut cousins. I told him that they were family, but he doesn't understand. I can't turn my back on them, and they had nowhere else to go." She sighs dramatically, clenching onto Jo in despair. The terrier's black button eyes plead desperately, her bows dangling from her ears.

"I understand why you felt you had to invite them, but I also understand Frank's reluctance to have them in his home." I tell her honestly. "They are quite, unique." When her face falls, I add hastily, "I thought dinner was delicious, and I wouldn't worry about Frank. Now that the house is quiet again, he'll feel better."

"Just like Janie." Angela states, nodding in agreement. "She likes her peace and quiet, too. Not me. I'm a people person, like you."

"Right." I choose to agree with her in the moment, justifying to myself that it is technically not a lie. I do enjoy studying people, therefore could technically be referred to as a 'people person.'

I excuse myself to put the load in the washer, and bag my beloved new dress for the dry cleaner. When I return, Angela in sitting in the same position. I can't bear to see the pitiful expression on Jo's face any longer, so after I pour us both a glass of wine, I encourage Angela to join me in the living room. The terrier, free from Angela's lap, trots into her bed and lies down with a little sigh.

"She's so cute." Angela says, looking at the dog fondly. "I wish Frank would let me get a dog."

"Why don't you?" I ask, relaxing into the cushions of the couch.

She shrugs again, and I'm struck at the uncanny resemblance she shares with Jane. My eyes begin to well up with tears and I bite the inside of my mouth in response. Rationally, I know that my interaction with my own mother couldn't have gone any other way. Emotionally, it's difficult, especially being around Jane and her family so much. While they have accepted me and my relationship with Jane with open arms, I still feel that loss of my own.

"I'm really happy for you and Jane. I can tell that you belong together, and it's good to see her so happy." Angela says, her voice quieter than usual. "I've never see her so happy."

"Thank you." I answer, uncertain how to talk to her. It's clear that she needs to get something off of her chest, and her approach is quite similar to Jane's. I decide to direct the conversation like I would if something were bothering Jane.

"You seem upset tonight." I say cautiously, gauging her reaction. If she's anything like her daughter, rather, if her daughter is anything like her, than I will get a sullen jerk of the head and a muttered, "I'm fine."

"I am." Angela says, meeting my eyes directly. Her response noted, I decide to proceed in a different manner.

"Is it something you'd like to discuss?" I ask amenably. Taking a sip of my wine, I settle further into the couch and tuck my feet underneath me. I fixate my gaze on Angela, understanding that her comfort level will increase if she feels as if she has my undivided attention.

"Am I a good mother?" Angela blurts out suddenly. My eyes widen in surprise. I see movement behind her, and without looking away from her face, I know that Jane has entered the room. She pauses, uncertain of if she should be intruding on our conversation.

"I'm not sure if I am qualified to answer you." I respond honestly, my eyes flicking to Jane's silhouette. "I haven't exactly had great luck with mothers." I smile weakly at her. "However, I can assure you that it is evident to everyone how much you love your children, and how much they love you return." Looking past her and meeting Jane's nervous eyes, I extend my hand up to her.

"Join us?" I ask, expectantly.

"Oh, hi honey." Angela greets her. "Feel better after your shower?"

"Uh, yeah." Jane says, her voice low. She sits down behind me, nervously pulling her knees up to her chest. "What are we talking about?"

"I'm just feeling sorry for myself." Angela states glumly.

"C'mon, ma." Jane starts, her tone exasperated, and I quickly put my hand on her arm, stopping her mid-sentence.

"I just want what's best for my children." Angela continues, and I wrack my brain, trying to determine where she's going with her line of thought.

"We're fine." Her daughter responds tersely. I look back and forth between the two of them, as if I were watching a tennis match. Jane's face is sullen, and I know she is resentful for her mother's presence. Angela's expression is tense, her eyes glassy and slow reaction time a testament that she continued to consume alcohol throughout the evening. Her inebriated status will make dealing with her much more difficult, and it will not be a good combination with Jane's current mood.

"Jane, would you mind walking Jo alone tonight?" I ask sweetly as I turn to face her. I give her a gentle smile, hopeful that she will get the message. Both she and the dog could use some fresh air and distance from Angela.

"Sure." Jane hops up and leaves the room. Jo trots eagerly behind her and scampers around as Jane pulls on her coat and boots. It's the first time Jo has willingly left my side in weeks, so I know that the terrier is feeling the strain coming from Angela.

"See?" Angela whispers. "She hates me."

"Oh no," I say quickly. "She doesn't hate you; she just enjoys her nightly walks, especially in the cooler weather. I've never owned a dog before, and it's fascinating to see how quickly they become attached to their routine."

Angela looks at me blankly. "Not the dog, sweetie. My daughter. She's the one that hates me."

I open my mouth in surprise. "But what did I do wrong?" Angela wails, flinging her glass of wine around in her hand. I watch tersely as the wine gets closer and closer to the edge of the glass, biting my lip as I imagine it spilling onto the new rug. I reach for the glass, but Angela pulls it to her mouth, gulping it down all at once.

"Why do you think you did something wrong?" I question, grateful that her glass is empty.

"She doesn't even want to be in the same room with me." She responds quietly, her eyes averted.

"That's not true." Maybe asking Jane to leave wasn't such a good idea. I was hopeful that I would be able to help, but now I feel quite awkward and uncertain about what to say. My mind races with facts about tense mother / daughter relationships and the possible causes, but I instinctively know that this is not what Angela wants to hear. I know she just wants to feel loved by her children, and to know that she has done a good job in raising them.

"We're not that different." I realize out loud, and Angela looks at me in surprise. I hurry to explain. "You want to feel validated for the love and devotion you've given to your children throughout the years. It will help make you feel more secure and confident as a person to know that you've done your best and they appreciate it." Pausing, I see that Angela is listening intently. "I feel the same way. I've done everything in my power to be the best possible daughter and would like to feel that validation from my parents. Knowing that my parents, both my adopted and my birth parents, love me and are proud of whom I have become would make me feel like a more valid and secure person."

Taking a breath, I also finish my glass of wine in one big gulp. I hold one finger up to her to indicate that I will be right back. I grab the bottle of wine from the kitchen island and return to the couch, filling up both of our glasses.

Angela lifts hers in a toast, and we gently clink the glasses together. "Salute." She says gently, smiling at me. I nod back at her, feeling pleasantly comfortable now.

"Well, I think you are a wonderful daughter." Angela remarks kindly, placing her hand on my knee. "Not only are you good for my Janie, but you are good for my family."

Touched, both literally and figuratively, I glance down at her hand before responding. "Thank you." My voice is quiet, and it wavers slightly as I continue. "I think you are a good mother. You only want what is best for your children, and although Jane can be abrupt, she appreciates how much you love her and her brothers."

"Ah, Jane's just like her father." Angela answers, her eyes twinkling. "I know I bother her, but that's what mothers do. You'll see. I'll start bothering you soon, too."

My chest feels tight with emotion as I return her smile. "I look forward to it."

By the time Jane returns, her mother and I have finished the bottle of wine and are almost finished with our second. We are quite intoxicated, and she is trying to explain the point of 'Jersey Shore' to me, although neither of us are able to do much else than laugh at the antics of the cast.

"I used to wear my hair like that!" Angela exclaims, pointing at a short brunette.

"You still do wear your hair like that." Jane mutters as she joins us in the living room. She seems much more relaxed after her walk, and I openly admire her lean form as she strides over to the couch. Jo jumps in my lap and excitedly greets me.

"I do not look like snooki!" Angela argues.

"Hey sexy." I leer at her, and the look on Jane's face is priceless. I furrow my brow and glance at the television. "What's a snooki?"

"Hi." She remarks cheerfully, giving both of us the once-over. "What are you two doing?" She didn't answer my question.

"What's a snooki?" I ask again, forcefully.

"That's a snooki!" Angela points at the television. There is a brunette is consuming a large amount of alcohol while dancing with a large crowd of young people. I still don't understand what a snooki is.

"Alcohol kills 4.65 college students per day." I quip helpfully, before filling up my glass again.

"How do you kill .65 of someone?" Jane questions and her eyes look sparkly, like our strap-on. Pretty.

"Jane." I sigh, rolling my eyes. "It's a statistic." I explain.

"Right." She nods seriously. "I thought the two of you were going shopping in the morning? Shouldn't you be getting to bed?"

"We're leaving at 3am." I tell her helpfully. "I did some research and found that if you are line before the store opens and in time for the doorbusters, your savings will increase dramatically." I am very excited about the idea of shopping tomorrow morning. "Plus, I already printed out detailed maps of each store we are going to be frequenting, and put everything in a binder. I have my coupons and shopping list sorted alphabetically, and feel very prepared for my first Black Friday."

"I wanna go to Filene's." Angela slurs. I'm concerned about the amount of alcohol she's consumed. I glance at the clock with blurry eyes and see that it's almost ten. I am not sure if she will be sober enough to accompany me in a little over five hours. "I want to get a dress for your & Janie's wedding."

"What?" Jane blurts out, her face immediately flushing. "Who said anything about a wedding?"

"Oh, it's just a matter of time." Her mother retorts, finishing her glass of wine. "I'm done." She pushes the glass away from her. "Besides, you have to be married before you have grandchildren. I insist."

"What?" Jane blurts again, louder this time. I put my fingers in my ears and frown.

"Jane, be quiet." I snap at her, suddenly irritable. I turn to Angela. "We have not discussed a wedding, or having children. However, if that is something we decide to pursue, I'm sure Jane will seek your advice. Besides, there is a fascinating book called The Ultimate Guide to Pregnancy for Lesbians that I've been reading, and it's filled with helpful information."

"What book?" Jake exclaims, her face white with shock. She quiets down and sits there with a blank look on her face and her mouth slightly ajar. I wonder if she is having problems with her sinus passages.

"Jane, do I need to get you some salt water to breathe in? It will help clear your sinuses."

"What?" She exclaims, looking at me as if I were insane.

"Why do you keep saying what?" I question, placing my hand on her forehead. "Are you feeling okay?"

"No, not really." She says, looking quite flustered. "I think I should go to bed."

"Okay honey." Angela responds sweetly. "We'll wake you up when we're ready to leave."

"What?" Jane asks again and I begin to giggle. Why does she keep saying what?

"We're drunk. We can't drive ourselves." Angela patiently explains and I laugh harder. Am I drunk?

"If you think that I am driving my drunken mother and girlfriend around to go shopping at 3am on Black Friday, the both of you are crazy." Jane stands, crossing her arms and glaring down at us. Why is she mad at me? What did I do? The sight of her furrowed forehead makes me laugh even more.

"A woman down at the shopping center said her son lent his sperm to his sister's partner." Angela continues. "You should ask Frankie!"

"Ma!" Jane shouts, hurting my ears. "I am not borrowing sperm from my little brother!"

"That's correct." I add to the conversation. "Technically, if you borrow something you should be able to return it in the condition in which it was borrowed. Jane doesn't have the ability to return sperm, so borrow isn't the right word. It's more correct to say that the sperm was gifted, with no intentions of having it returned."

"Okay, that's it. Off to bed." Jane picks me up by my arms and steers me toward the bedroom. "Ma, you can sleep in the guest room."

"Janie, it was just a suggestion." Angela states, pouring herself one last glass of wine.

"Nope." Jane takes it from her. "You said you were done, remember?" My legs feel unsteady, as if the floor is vibrating.

"Jane." I whisper over my shoulder. "I think we have termites. They are eating the floor."

She sighs. "I'll call an exterminator tomorrow, okay?

I turn suddenly, flinging myself into her arms. "You're sweet."

"Thanks." She places a gentle kiss to my nose. "And you're drunk."

"I am?" I am?

"Yes." She supports my weight as I've suddenly found it difficult to stand on my own feet. My eyes widen in fear. "Jane, I need you to take me to the hospital right away. I think I'm suffering from a brain tumor, specifically, glioblastoma. I suddenly can't stand up or support my weight, and that is one of the main symptoms."

"Or, you're drunk." She says calmly. "Why don't I help you lie down, and if you're still feeling lousy in ten minutes I'll take you."

I allow her theory to process in my mind. I wonder if the butterfly population has resurged since the devastation of the last Florida wildfire. I need to call my hairdresser and have my roots touched up.

"Okay?" Jane prods, and I nod numbly. I have no idea what we were talking about.

"Ma, do you need help into bed?" Jane asks and I hang off of her like a three-toed sloth. The two-toed sloth is much less common and actually un-related to the more well-known and increased-toed three-toed sloth. Humans have five toes. I'm a five-toed sloth. I start to giggle again.

"I'm fine. I can hold my liquor, unlike that one." Angela points at me and I continue giggling as I imagine her having sloth claws, which as actually not claws but a strong callus of the toe itself.

"Goodnight." Jane tells to her mother.

"Night sloth!" I call, dissolving into giggles again. I try to pick up my feet as I am led into the bedroom. I'm sure Jane would find my knowledge on sloths fascinating. As she helps me get ready for bed, I tell her all that I know about each species. She nods solemnly, obviously feeling empathetic toward the plight of the endangered animals.

Once I'm tucked in under the covers, Jane turns out the light and slides in behind me, wrapping her arm around my hips. She whispers goodnight and kisses the back of my neck and I smile. She is nice.

I try to fall asleep, but I just can't. I have to know.

"Jane?" I ask. "What's a snooki?"

She sighs in response.


	6. Chapter 6

My eyes fly open and I awake suddenly as if someone has thrown a bucket of cold water on me. This is a common side effect of waking too rapidly. The sudden jolt of the body's muscles requires additional blood circulation to the body's core, resulting in a lack of blood flow to the extremities and the feeling of a chill. Instead of jumping out of bed and exacerbating the problem, I stretch leisurely and allow my muscles to warm up.

Jane stirs in her sleep. I hate to wake her, especially where I kept her up for a good part of the night talking. I don't quite remember what we were talking about, but I do remember consuming a surprising amount of wine.

As soon as I get out of bed and turn the bathroom light on, Jane wakes up. She sits upright abruptly, shielding her face from the sliver of light that seems to flood the room.

"Maur?" Her voice is rumbly and low. She never took her ponytail out last night, so her hair bears a distinct resemblance to a squirrel's nest, and she has somehow managed to get an arm out of the sleeve of her tank top. It's resting through the neck hole and she shrugs her shoulders like a perturbed child in trying to fix it.

There is only one thing that could keep me from climbing back into bed with her and showing just how gorgeous I think she is right now; despite her 'homeless-esque,' and depilated appearance, and that thing is shopping.

"Go back to sleep." I talk to her softly, and she flops back down on the bed without further encouraging. I obviously am running on sheer adrenaline, but I decide to go with it. Showering quickly, I plan the perfect Black Friday shopping outfit in my mind. Clearly, the best choice is a camel-colored vintage corduroy blazer with skinny jeans and my new brown Marc Jacobs tall dress boots.

Within twenty minutes I am dressed, and I apply light makeup while looking in the bathroom mirror to avoid turning the lights on at my vanity and waking Jane again. The lighting in here is terrible, but I make do. I'm glad I decided against washing my hair, as the noise from the blow dryer certainly would have not been appropriate for 2:30 in the morning.

I smell coffee, and smile at myself in the mirror. I'm glad Angela is up and ready. Seeing how inexcusably intoxicated we both were last night, I was concerned that she wouldn't be up for our adventure today. I have to admit that I was really looking forward to it.

I find her in the kitchen, loudly humming to herself as she thumbs through a catalog. Smiling as I enter, she greets me warmly.

"Good morning." I respond brightly. "How do you feel today?" She is exhibiting all of the classic signs of a hangover; her eyes are bloodshot and she looks exhausted. I couldn't help but notice her wince when my voice echoed off of the pristine kitchen walls, and she is squinting while looking up at the light.

"I'm okay." She answers. "I'll be better once I get some fresh air and we make a quick stop. You ready?"

Pouring myself some coffee into a travel mug, I set the maker to turn back on and warm the rest of the pot at 7am for Jane. I dash off a quick note to her and leave it on the counter before grabbing my shopping binder and following Angela outside.

Before she gets into my car, she takes a deep breath of fresh air. "Beautiful night."

It is, indeed. We've been lucky this year, temperatures above normal, and it's comfortable dressed in layers but without a jacket this morning.

My car purrs to life and I set out, knowing it will take approximately eighteen minutes to arrive at the Cambridgeside Galleria.

"Where would you like to stop?" I ask before turning onto the main road. She gives me an embarrassed smile.

"Anywhere that I can get a banana shake." I must have given her a confused expression, as she hurries to explain herself. "If I have something with bananas, it will make my hangover go away. By the way, why aren't you hungover? You were in worse shape last night than I was!"

Hmm. Pausing to contemplate her question, I am unable to come up with an answer for her. "I'm not sure." I admit. Angela laughs and pats my leg affectionately. "Leave it to my daughter to end up with you. Have you ever seen Janie hungover?" I shake my head. She snorts, sounding exactly like her daughter. "Don't."

Angela entertains me with tales of Jane's rebellious teenage years and the joy in which Angela took in tormenting her the morning after Jane had consumed an excess of alcohol. I have to chuckle as I picture Jane as an unruly, surly teenager, lanky and uncertain of herself yet still possessing her fiery gaze and untamed spirit. She must have been a sight to see.

After our stop for Angela's banana smoothie, we reach our destination just as the doors are opening at 4pm. There is hardly anywhere to park in the mall's spacious and multi-level underground parking lot, but I finally manage to locate a spot. Angela, clad in a pink velour track suit and clean white sneakers hurries out of the car. She barely waits for me to grab my binder and shove it in my oversized bag before grabbing my hand to hurry me to the elevator.

"Where's our first stop?" She asks as we crowd in with eleven other people. My eyes widen with fright as I see we are one person over the elevator's recommended occupancy, and several of the people certainly weigh more than their ideal weight. I'm unable to answer her, my eyes darting around the confined space rapidly.

Much like her daughter, Angela instantly calms me by patting my hand and rolling her eyes. I try to smile, but continue holding my breath until we are out. The mall is already crowded, and for a brief moment I am overwhelmed with sensory overloads. Not only are there shoppers everywhere, but lights, music, banners, flashing lights, and sounds. It must be overwhelming to Angela, and when I look over to check in with her, I see that she is calmly wearing a pair of dark sunglasses.

"Are you okay?" I ask, concerned that this will make her hangover worsen. She takes a long sip of her smoothie.

"Honey, I live for this." Giving me an evil smile she darts off toward the Apple store. I know that Frankie has been hoping for a few things, and we might as well take advantage of the doorbusters.

After a few hours of spending, I realize that Angela is my kind of shopper. She is methodical in her selection of stores, and prefers to go through each one systematically to ensure optimal time-saving practices. She makes quick and precise decisions about items, and we've already had to go back to the car once to unload our packages. I am finding that if I rely on her stable presence I am not feeling overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people and chaos. She is not afraid to push politely through, and I doggedly follow in her footsteps.

We are almost done with our lists, while admittedly I do not have many people to buy for; I prefer to make sure that I find the most appropriate gift for each special person in my life. Of course, the most challenging person to buy anything for is Jane.

Angela and I have both lamented about how difficult it is to find the perfect gift for her. When you ask her what she wants, she automatically answers, "I don't need anything." She hates to buy anything for herself, and hates more being asked if there's something she'd like.

I've gotten a few things for her that were on my list, practical items I know she'll use; chapstick and candy for her stocking, but nothing more. After a quick breakfast at Au Bon Pain which was spent plaintively whining over what we were going to get for Jane, Angela and I agreed to table the discussion and wander around in hopes of having a "lightbulb" moment. Angela slides her sunglasses into her purse and is clearly feeling better, which lightens my spirits considerably.

Finding ourselves in Spencer Gifts, I am shocked at the raunchy material found in a store that caters to teenagers. Of course, Angela finds everything funny, including the wide variety of penis-themed bachelorette party items.

"Maura!" She exclaims loudly, holding something up for me to see. I am in the next aisle, looking at the wide variety of body jewelry they have. Just as I wonder what Jane's reaction would be if I suddenly came home with something pierced, I turn to see Angela holding up a box. "Peckeroni Pasta! Pasta shaped like penises!"

"Oh dear." I manage to mutter as my face turns scarlet.

"I have to get this for Frank." She mutters before pulling more boxes off the shelf. "The next time he pisses me off he's eating penis pasta for dinner."

The woman standing next to me erupts into laughter, and I resist the urge to bury my face in my hands. I probably couldn't be more mortified at this moment.

"I know how you feel." She says, and I glance at her out of the corner of my eye while watching Angela purchase eight boxes of pasta. I have the distinct feeling that Frank will be eating Peckeroni Pasta quite often in the near future.

Regarding the woman standing next to me, I find her to be around my age. I'm uncertain of how to answer her, so I remain quiet.

"My mother used to the do the same thing to me." She continues, smiling gently. "She loved to embarrass me at any chance she got."

"Oh." I respond quietly, feeling awkward. I'm not sure what the proper protocol is here as I usually don't engage strangers in conversation. Do I tell her that Angela isn't my mother? Do I walk away? Unsure, I stand my ground and study the woman inquisitively, wondering why she is telling me personal details about her mother.

"She died last year." The woman continues, her voice wavering slightly. "We always used to come shopping together on this day. It's stupid, but I'm standing here trying to pick out an eyebrow ring for my teenage daughter and I'm imagining that my mother is standing next to me, telling me what an idiot I am for encouraging her to mutilate her body."

"It's not stupid." I tell her softly. "I'm sorry."

She smiles weakly at me before taking in a deep breath. "Don't be sorry, just enjoy her. Even when she drives you nuts."

Joining us, Angela lifts her bag in triumph. "Ready, honey?" She asks me and I nod in response.

"Wow." The woman exclaims, looking back and forth between Angela and myself. "You certainly are mother and daughter. The resemblance is uncanny." Smiling kindly, I see her eyes begin to well up with tears. "Have a good day."

Angela regards me curiously and when I remain silent she puts an arm around my shoulders before leading me out of the store. Despite impeding the flow of traffic, I pull Angela into a hug, squeezing her tightly before releasing her. My eyes meet hers expecting to find pity, but I am rewarded with warm compassion instead. She links her arm with mine and we make our way to the next store.


	7. Chapter 7

I have never been much of a writer, but I could fill volumes of college-lined notebooks with small, neat script proclaiming the wonders of Jane's eyes.

It's interesting how she can be completely focused on having a conversation with someone else, yet instantly dart her eyes away from them mid-sentence to meet mine to give me a brief gaze. That gaze is my lifeline, and in a nanosecond it conveys everything that I need precisely at that moment. The gaze she just graced me with was filled with promise. Of what, I can't be certain, but I have a few leads.

It was roughly a few minutes ago, and exactly thirty-two seconds after that gaze, sitting across the table from Jane in a crowded bar, surrounded by our co-workers and friends, that I realized just how much I don't like myself.

The realization came as a shock, so much that as I raised my glass to take a sip of my cranberry margarita, I took a much larger sip than necessary in order to try and force the feelings down. Instead, I choked on the tart liquid and had a coughing fit, causing Korsak to roughly slap me on the back.

After being certain that I was, indeed fine, Frost continued his humorous story of his neighbor who enjoyed walking around sans pants and how it resulted in the purchase of some heavy-duty blinds for Barry's living room. Everyone is having a lovely time; no murders on the holiday, and the homicide department agreed to meet here this evening to celebrate. We were all concerned there would be a repeat of last year's carving knife incident. An elderly man decided to show how thankful he was to have been put into a retirement home a month earlier by stabbing himself with the family heirloom carving knife in front of his children and grandchildren. It was a shame, not only for the family, but for the knife itself as it was a beautiful museum-quality piece. What a waste to have it sitting unclaimed in the evidence room. Obviously no one in the family had any interest in using it ever again.

Plastering a smile on my face, I turned my attention back to the table and once I was assured that I could unobtrusively pretend to be focused on the conversation, I allowed my thoughts to wander back to my previous realization.

My self-hatred was certainly not something I had wished upon myself, and I don't think it was born out of an intentional cruelty. As passive about affection toward me as my parents were, I honestly feel like it wasn't a choice for them. They were so enraptured within themselves and their social events; that there was just not enough room left for me. I believe they chose to adopt me with the good intentions of broadening their horizons, yet instead I created a chasm between them. Their solution was to bridge that chasm by spending more time together, and less time with me. This resulted in them allowing me to become independent, and their solution was a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. I was already inherently an independent child, and when they noticed that I didn't seek out affection from them, it became easier for them to withhold it.

I am not certain where the tiny seed of self-hatred formed within me. Perhaps it blew in one day, unobtrusively, by a slighted comment or action from my adopted parents, another child, or even a complete stranger. It's also possible that it was always there, hidden deep within my gene makeup, and was created with my conception.

Regardless of how it arrived, as any good seed will do, it flourished with the nurturing that hatred thrives on. Poor self-image, low confidence in social experiences, high levels of anxiety, and a genuine lack of affection surely all have contributed to my negative connotations about myself. All of these factors, combined with so many more, allowed the hatred to blossom so quickly that it had become possible to ignore.

I've been able to hold it at bay for so long, but sometimes I feel like I am losing control. It feels like what I would assume sinking in quicksand feels like. When my self-hatred takes over, I panic. Struggling internally, I list off everything in my mind that I feel is positive about me. I am intelligent, I have great fashion sense, I am compassionate, and I am genuinely a nice person. However, as fast as I can list anything and everything that is positive about myself, I can counter with something negative.

When you are in quicksand, if you remain calm and abstain from moving your limbs, you will allow water to settle into the sediment below, thus resulting in the ability to free your limbs easier. It's not possible to actually drown in quicksand, and most people who are stuck will be able to free themselves easily by making very small movements and trying to float back up to the surface. If you panic, however, you will find yourself surely stuck and will most likely die from starvation or thirst unless a lifeline pulls you out.

Sometimes, I feel as if Jane is my lifeline. She is everything that I am not, confident, bold, and vibrant. And I've come to the realization that despite my full intentions to play "house" with her and be the perfect wife, I still don't feel any better about myself. She deserves so much more.

"Earth to Maura." Her voice stirs me out of my stupor. I glance up at her, embarrassed for being caught not paying attention, and meet her eyes timidly.

She narrows hers somewhat at me as she tilts her head to the left slightly. She is trying to assess why I've been so quiet since returning from shopping with her mother earlier this morning. I shrug my shoulders and put on my best "I'm fine" face, but she's not buying it.

Standing up, Jane removes a few bills from her wallet and puts them on the table. "Maur, let's head out. You've been up since god-knows-how early." Before I can argue, she crosses over to my side of the table and gives my arm a gentle tug.

"See you boys on Monday." She tells them, ignoring their groans of disapproval.

I politely say goodbye and follow Jane outside, the icy air a comforting contrast to the thick bar atmosphere. It turned chilly this afternoon, and the dark sky holds a promise of snow to come. She entwines my hand in hers as we walk a few blocks to the car.

"Everything okay?" She asks, her voice deliberately light. "You haven't seemed yourself today."

"I feel a little down." I tell her truthfully.

Jane doesn't respond, instead gripping my hand a bit tighter and shouldering against me. I'm grateful, as I'm feeling the effects of the three and a half margaritas I've had tonight.

After Angela and I finished shopping, I dropped her off at her house. She said she was going to make Frank a delightful lunch, her eyes dancing merrily with the anticipation of serving him her new pasta. I couldn't wait to get home, and found Jane adorably still in her pajamas, watching reruns of Law & Order: SVU on the DVR.

I dutifully told her how much sexier she was than Benson as I proceeded to show her all of my purchases, sans a few special items for her. I was having a great morning with her, sitting on the couch and sipping coffee with Jo on my lap and Bass thumping around by my feet. Everything was picture perfect, and I even got Jane to take a nap with me after lunch.

I'm not certain what was processing in my mind while we were asleep, but when I woke up, I felt different. At first I couldn't put my finger on it, but something under the surface didn't feel quite right. I chalked it up to my obnoxious wine-induced behavior from the night before, and subsequent early morning. Unable to convince myself, I was unable to stop myself from falling into a quiet funk for the rest of the afternoon. I was actually relieved when Jane mentioned that a bunch of the guys were getting together tonight and practically begged her to go, thinking that a change in routine would be helpful.

Once we were out, I found that after my first margarita I felt relieved and after my second, I felt downright silly. The third one was my downfall, and my little bubble of self-hatred that had been bubbling under the surface since this afternoon finally popped.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" I break out of my reverie as we reach the car.

"Nope." Jane answers simply. She helps me in, and I'm thankful that she didn't have much to drink. While I'm certainly not intoxicated, I am in no shape to be driving.

Before she starts the car, Jane locks the doors and glances around to make sure we are alone on the street. "What's going on?" She questions gently, those eyes boring into mine.

I shrug again, not sure of what to tell her. I am not sure of how I feel myself, so how can I explain it to her? It's not fair to treat her this way, however, or be so moody with her. My mind racing for an explanation, I say the first thing that comes out of my mouth.

"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state."

"Come again?" Jane asks, clearly confused.

"It's Shakespeare." I answer. Clearing my throat, I close my eyes and continue.

"And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, and look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,

Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, with what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings, that then I scorn to change my state with kings."

When I finally open my eyes, I fully expect Jane to be staring at me like I have finally lost my mind. She will drive me to McLean psychiatric hospital and have me admitted, and I will complement on her choice of facilities as it is a very highly-regarded mental institution. Perhaps she'll even bring Jo to visit, as they have a lovely botanical garden that she'd enjoy.

Instead, I see her eyes, the very eyes that Shakespeare himself would have written hundreds of sonnets about. They are as calm as the sea on a tranquil night, but as I study them I can see tiny little glints of concern bobbing at the edges. She doesn't respond right away, just continues to study me, ever the detective.

When she finally speaks, her voice is as low as I've ever heard it.

"What does it mean?"

"Sonnet number twenty-nine. One of his more popular sonnets, actually. I first read it in grade school and it's always been my favorite." I answer quickly, my composure regained.

"Okay." She presses on. "But what does it mean?"

I sigh, fidgeting my hands around the oversized ring I wear on my middle finger. I hate to fidget.

"Shakespeare felt upset about several events taking place in his life at the time, unconfident about his work, and had poor self-esteem. He allowed those feelings to consume him when he was working on this sonnet, and his insecurities affected his writing; he felt everything he wrote wasn't nearly good enough. This resulted in him constantly second-guessing himself and being unable to enjoy what he used to enjoy the most; his writing. However, when he thinks of the person that he loves, the thoughts of that person brought him so much joy that he was unable to wallow in his self-pity, making him appreciate that love. " My personal analysis comes tumbling out hurriedly.

"Maura!" Jane barks swiftly. "Not the cliff-notes version, what does it mean to you?"

"Hey!" I object. "That is not a cliff-notes version. It is my own personal analysis for this particular sonnet."

She puts her hands up. "I didn't mean to offend. I guess I'm confused, and I just want to know what's going on inside that big brain of yours." Smiling gently at me, she asks softly. "What does it mean to you?"

I swallow loudly in the silence as seconds tick by. I've never revealed this to anyone, and am generally uncomfortable with the notion of sharing this last part of myself with her. There is a good chance she will react with the classic 'you're fine, there's nothing wrong with you' speech that just will result in further insecurity. Perhaps she will be upset with me, telling me that I'm crazy to feel like that. Lastly, she could laugh the situation off, making my feelings seem trivial. I am not sure which circumstance would be the worst, and the speculation of her reaction is worrisome. However, Jane never fails to surprise me, and I trust her with so much that I might as well trust her with this. Garnering up my courage, I try to put into non-Shakespeare-words exactly how I am feeling.

"I don't like myself. I never have and I probably never will. I love you, and you make me happy." I realize that often the most simplistic sentences are the most difficult to say as my hands continue to fidget despite my best intentions to keep t hem quiet.

"I like you." She answers quietly, the hint of a smile forming at either side of her mouth. "A lot."

"That's good." I tell her, fighting back the tears that suddenly threaten. "Can you like me enough for the both of us?"

"Definitely." She responds easily, the smiling overtaking her entire face. "I'll like you enough for everyone, meanwhile, we'll figure out how to make you like you." Placing one hand behind my neck, she pulls me to her for a gentle kiss. "Deal?"

I nod against her mouth. I don't deserve her, but I'm so thankful that she's mine.

* * *

_One more chapter to this tale, folks. Then you probably won't hear from me as much, as work is getting busier and busier and our show season will be starting. I will try to post a few things however throughout the spring/summer/fall….as I will miss you all very much. Reviews will make me want to write more, so keep 'em coming. I feel like I have the greatest fans in the world, and that makes me happy._

_Speaking of, I'm a little (okay, a LOT) unhappy about some of the R & I script leaks for Season 2….seems like they've casted new love interests that are of the male persuasion for both Jane & Maura. Ick. Why can't TNT live in the fantasyland that thrives within my head? Sigh. I guess I was hopeful that the HUGE lesbian fan base of this show would have some type of impact on the show itself…not that I'm expecting them to live out my stories (though it would be nice, and I could use the money), but I don't really want have it turn into General Hospital with all the hetero love affairs taking place of the actual plot!_


	8. Chapter 8

From my earliest remembrances, I have had reoccurring dreams of being on the hunt. In my dreams I am searching relentlessly for something, anything, and the object of my desire seemed to change nightly. When I was a child, in my dreams I'd be stalking childlike things – butterflies, proof of extraterrestrial life, Care Bears, or the exact metal that I could turn to gold using my junior alchemist kit.

As I matured, my teenage years were filled with dreams of anguished searches for my birth parents along with peculiar dreams of being in the cast of Saved by the Bell and searching the halls for Zack Morris; even though everyone can agree that A.C. Slater was the superior biological specimen.

When I entered college, I matured appropriately and had frequent dreams of hunting for the truth alongside fictional F.B.I Agent Dana Scully, though I clearly recall being much more interested in the Agent herself rather than what we were searching for.

By the time I had graduated from college and begun my professional career, my reoccurring dreams of exploration began to evolve into something quite different. Instead of my nights being filled with exciting new discoveries, my dreams took a downward turn. I had the distinct feeling that instead of hunting for something new, I was actually trying to flee from something instead. As I searched, always alone, through the darkness of my dreams, I would hear echoes of the taunts that surrounded me my entire life; orphan, weirdo, brianiac, and the ever-popular 'Maura-the-bore-a'. If I encountered another person in my dream, they would quickly flee from me. I was alone, not only in the consciousness of daylight, but now even in my own subconscious.

It was downright depressing.

At times, I would hate to fall asleep, knowing the inevitably of loneliness my dreams would bring.

Awake, I'd lie in my bed with my hair spread out on my pillow and picture myself floating downriver like the lost Ophelia. Would I ever be found? Did I even want anyone to find me? Or was I content to float among the living forever, gliding peacefully by them unnoticed while they went on with their tedious and miserable lives? For all practical purposes, I was a ghost, unclaimed by anyone.

I wasn't sure of my place in this world until I met Jane. I don't want it to sound like I was suicidal, as that was not the case. However, I had accepted my fate to live quietly among society, never asking for anything from anyone and expecting to receive even less.

My feelings changed once Jane and I formed our friendship. The first time she slept over my house, it was because she was afraid. As much as it tormented me to see her upset, I have to admit that a small notion of my mind relished the extra contact she sought from me. Her infrequent visits to my home upgraded; she became a regular staple at first in my guest room, and then finally in my bedroom. The first time she crawled into my bed in the middle of the night, her voice husked with embarrassment, I thought I might pass out from emotional overload. Here was this woman, this beautiful and powerful woman, practically begging for my help. Not only did someone actually need me, but they chose to need me rather than fly into the arms of countless other suitors, _male_ suitors, nonetheless. For the first time in my life, I felt special.

It was all I could do not to fall deeply in love with her at that exact moment and I realize now that I probably did. She curled away from me, her chin tucked into her chest, but didn't resist when I held her from behind. She didn't have a nightmare that night, and slept soundly. I, however, refused to fall asleep so I could memorize every second of our physical, emotional, and spiritual contact. I am not certain if she felt my positive energy and thoughts of love that I desperately tried to pass onto her, but she did begin to seek me out more and more after that night.

Usually, if she sought my contact it was because she'd been having nightmares. I realized quickly that my terrors of being alone were nothing compared to what she had been through. I also realized how easily we could sleep next to each other and act completely normal with each other in the morning, comfortably hidden under the guise of our friendship.

When I was finally able to sleep while lying next to her, I began to have dreams of hunting again and no longer was I alone. The lithe figure of Jane paced next to me like a Puma Concolor, more commonly known as a mountain lion. No words were spoken, nor did there need to be. Jane's silent appearance in my nightly adventures served as a much-needed companion and I enjoyed my dreams once more. There were times when Jane and I would discover the secret to shaping the perfect high heel, and other times we'd walk through fields laden with delightful layers of graham crackers and chocolate bars while in search of marshmallows. I still can recall perfectly the confused expression on Jane's face when I woke up in her bed, long before our romantic relationship, and told her how much I enjoyed "s'moring my night away with her."

"Hey hon?" Jane's voice calls me from my reverie. She is holding up a pair of well-loved jeans, complete with a ripped knee. I can't help but smile as my gaze travels up to her face. Fresh from the shower, she is divinely perfect. I realize it is genetically impossible for any specimen to be 'perfect'; however, my perception of her perfection overrules my scientific rationale.

When I don't answer her, she shakes the jeans at me, almost upsetting the towel she has wrapped around her torso. Because she is so tall, she insists on using oversized bath towels to cloak herself in after her shower. I would purchase her a bathrobe, but it would hide her impressive shoulders and arms.

"Hm?" I respond, clearly ogling the aforementioned body parts.

"Do you care if I wear these?" She asks, her voice tinged with insecurity. We are going to the cinema, and for once, I am ready before her.

"I love those on you." I respond, smiling at her. Her eyes search mine for any sign of deceit, and finding none, she nods.

"You just look all fancy." She prods, jutting her chin at my clothed figure sitting patiently on the bed waiting for her to get dressed.

Glancing down at my outfit, I find nothing fancy about my Prada pants and cashmere sweater. I actually purchased both on .

"Jane." I sigh. "Get dressed or we'll be late. I want to get popcorn, and you know how I hate missing the previews."

"Fine." She grumbles, turning her back to me as she pulls on her jeans. I appreciate the muscles sliding underneath her smooth skin as she slides on a white cotton bra.

As she finishes dressing and slides a comb through her unruly hair, my mind once again wanders.

I found myself alone, no surprise, late one evening having dinner in a small café in Greenwich Village. I had gone to see an Off-Broadway show at one of the small theaters, and wandered around after, exploring the neighborhood. The café had a small stage and a local band had just begun to warm up. More people trickled in, the crowd around me expanded, and the band began to play.

They were very good. I have to admit that I became almost instantly infatuated with the lead singer. She moved effortlessly onstage and sang with a controlled power that was impressive. I don't recall the name of the singer, or of the band, but one particular lyric of the song they opened with has stuck with me after all of these years.

'My dreams have made a slave of me, locked me up and tied me down. Baby, you got the key so come on and free me, don't mess around.'

"Ready?" Jane asks as she approaches me and holds out her hand.

Grasping it in mine, I allow her to help me up. Nodding, I place a gentle kiss to her side of her mouth.

I'm ready.

* * *

_Well, we've come to the end of this trilogy. I want to thank all of you for sticking through to the end with me. I know I put Maura through some crap, but I think I've left her and Jane is a pretty good place. _

_While I won't be starting a full-length story again anytime soon (probably not until late fall), I will try to post some one-shots. I have a lot going on in my little brain, along with big plans to revamp some of my original fiction I was working on a while ago. _

_You've all been great – I so appreciate your reviews, messages, and comments. Thank you for making me want to be a better writer. Don't forget to sign up to receive an author alert from me so you don't miss updates in the future. _

_Until next time…..be well. _


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